


House and Home

by acab



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Canon Gay Relationship, Fix-It, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Moving In Together, Richie Tozier's Awful New York Accent Impressions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-07 14:04:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20818505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acab/pseuds/acab
Summary: “Yeah, maybe I’ll give myself back problems looking for your cute little ass in the rubble again. I’m well-versed in it now, didn’t you know? Get it? Versed? Gay sex? And because I—”“Yes, Richie.” Eddie hoisted himself up and started dragging the box he’d grabbed across the floor. Before Richie could even say anything, he said, “No, I don’t need help. Yes, I need you to open the bedroom door for me, and yes, we should use this as a doorstop.” Richie rushed forward to turn the knob, overshooting it and yanking the door open on accident, still not used to not having to challenge a door to a boxing match to get it to open. “Thanks.”





	House and Home

**Author's Note:**

> potential minor tw for disordered eating about half of the way through but eddie won't have any of richie's shit, it's resolved really quickly

Richie dug through the rubble, fibreglass and splinters digging into his hands and making them sore. His jeans had ripped when he crawled over a larger piece of glass, but he didn’t  _ care.  _ He had to find Eddie. He grunted as he shoved a wooden beam, rotten and soft under his fingertips, out of the way. “Eddie!” he called out. “Eddie! God, where are you?” He powered through another couple of beams, standing to kick some things aside. “Goddamn, Eds. Real good at hide and fuckin’ seek, just like when we were kids. You can stop hiding now!” He could feel panic sinking into his bones, his stomach dropping at the thought of the rest of the Losers being  _ right.  _ But there was no way. Richie could tell, if Eddie was dead, he’d  _ know.  _ He’d be able to feel it, and he couldn’t. He sunk back down onto his knees and laughed softly, sadly. He sniffed and blinked tears away before shoving more wood out of the way. 

He stayed there, on his hands and knees, for almost an hour and a half. He ignored the strain in his joints and lungs, how his eyes stung and his hands burned. He  _ had to find Eddie.  _ Richie threw aside yet another beam and let a soft sob leave his lips. He turned to a large plank and rammed his hand into it, expecting it to sting, but instead he smashed clean through it. He curled in on himself, putting his arms on the ground and his head in his arms. There he was, Richie Tozier, forty and sobbing on top of the remains of a rotten, shitty house. 

_ “Hello?”  _ Richie’s head snapped up.  _ “Is—”  _ a rough cough sounded, echoing from under Richie,  _ “is someone up there? I’m down here!”  _ Richie scrambled to pull up more boards, staying on the more stable ones. His hands were trembling violently, his heart slamming against his ribs, he could feel his stomach in his throat—“Richie!” 

He almost started sobbing again. 

“Eddie! Eddie, fuck, here—grab my hand. Well, fuck, your stomach. I’ll go get—”

“It’s fine! It’s fine, it’s fine. Get me the fuck out of here.” Eddie held his hands up for Richie to take. Richie leaned down to take them, and pulled. Eddie hissed as Richie pulled him up, digging his feet into the soft ground to hoist himself up. On the last few inches, Richie mumbled an apology and then yanked. Eddie came flying out, akin to some sort of cartoon, and landed right on top of Richie. 

“Eddie.”

“Richie.”

They stared at each other, eyes welling with tears, and Richie flung his arms around Eddie, knocking both of them onto their sides. He buried his face in Eddie’s neck, sliding his hand up to the back of his head. “Eddie,” he whispered,  _ “Eddie.” _

“That’s my name,” Eddie whispered against Richie’s shoulder, “don’t—fuck—don’t wear it out. I’m okay. I’m  _ okay,  _ Rich, I’m here, come on. Hey.” He laughed a little and started on a quip, but let it phase out when Richie’s shoulders shook with more sobs. “Hey,” he said, softer. “I’m okay.”

“They said—fuck, Eddie, you were  _ gone,  _ they said you were gone. I wanted to take you. I wanted to, I  _ tried,  _ I promise. I didn’t want—I couldn’t  _ leave  _ you. I couldn’t. They—”

Eddie pulled back to grab Richie’s face, cupping his cheeks with both hands. “I know.” Richie sniffled and shuddered. “I know. It’s okay. I need… a bath. I need a shower and a bath and another shower. And then I’m gonna call Myra, and then… we’ll see what happens. I’m not leaving, Richie. I promise. You look messy.”

Richie laughed and nodded, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his wrists. “Yeah,” he croaked, “I can imagine.” He stood, carefully, and helped Eddie up. 

Their hands stayed in contact for a few seconds longer than they needed to. Richie went to grab it, but then pulled his hand back. They looked at each other intently, as if communicating telepathically, and in a way, they were:

_ Wait. _

***

“Holy shit, is that Eddie? Guys! Guys, look!” Five heads whipped around to the door of the Inn as Eddie and Richie walked in together. 

_ “Shit,  _ you guys look—Eddie, you’re—”

“Shower,” Eddie said. “Shower. I’m taking a shower, then we’ll talk. Hi, guys.” Richie watched after Eddie as he ran up the stairs. Richie walked over to the desk to grab a roll of tape, sitting on the stairs to lay it on his palms and then rip it off to get the tiny shards out. When he didn’t hear any of the Losers continue whatever conversation they’d been having, he sighed and looked over. Sure enough, they were staring at him. “What? Out with it, no point in fuckin’—ow—keeping it to yourself.”

“You went back,” Stan said. 

“Yeah. Real observant there, buddy.” Richie sighed and put his forehead on the rails. “What else? You all look like you’re just bursting to—”

“You’re still in love with him, aren’t you?” 

Richie stayed quiet. 

“Is that why you went back?”

“He’s my best fucking friend,” Richie snapped. “I would’ve went back for any of you. Even Bill’s— _ ow,  _ fuck—bitch ass. Don’t look too far into it.” 

All of them went quiet for a moment. “Thanks for going back for him.” Richie looked up as Bill ran his hands through his hair, looking…  _ ashamed  _ of himself. “I d—don’t think any of us… y’know. Thanks.”

Richie scoffed and turned back to his hands to pull another splinter out. “Yeah, uh-huh. Richie’s epic psychic connection to Eddie saves the day again. You’re welcome. Fuckin’… sic a Pomeranian on me again, see if I give a shit. I’m invincible.”

“You’re allowed to talk about it,” Bev mumbled. “All of us are… we’ll be different forever, Richie. You’re no different. You’re not invincible, you’re not untouchable. You’re a human being, and you need to stop acting like you aren’t. You could have died. You almost  _ did.  _ Not just to It, but at the house. That wood is soft and rotten and not at all structurally sound in any fucking capacity. What if we had lost you? And we were down by two, huh? What would we do without Richie And Eddie?”

Richie stared at his hands and chewed on the inside of his lip, then shrugged.  _ Richie And Eddie. As if we have to come in a pair.  _ Before anyone could say anything else, Eddie walked down the stairs, a small bag clutched in his hands. “Hey, shithead.” He plonked himself down next to Richie and grabbed his hands to pull them into his lap. Eddie unzipped the bag and pulled out some sort of jar and tweezers. 

He couldn’t stop watching. 

Eddie had always had nice hands. Not manly, in the way they were then, but nice. Careful. Bigger than Richie’s own, no matter how large the height gap between them was. He had always been  _ capable,  _ good at whatever he tried to do. When they were kids, Richie was jealous of it. 

As adults, he was a little bit in love with it. 

Richie closed his eyes and rested his head on Eddie’s shoulder, letting him fuss over his hands as everyone else’s voice turned into white noise in his brain, muddled and warped by his thoughts.  _ What would we do without Richie And Eddie?  _ Richie wasn’t sure what he would have done without Richie And Eddie, either. That was part of why he went  _ back,  _ because he had to. Eddie was still out there, and he refused to forget ever again. 

Eddie grabbed Richie’s hand and started plucking out some of the splinters he’d missed with ease. “I can’t believe you didn’t wear gloves. Really, Rich, you have to get, like, a tetanus shot after this. All of you do. That’s what I’m going to do after I fix your lame ass up. You’re coming with me.”

“Uh huh. Sorry, Eds, not like I thought you were gonna die. I’ll make sure to grab some mitts next time.” He smiled when Eddie glared at him, then hissed as Eddie squeezed around one of the larger splinters. 

Everyone watched from their peripherals as Eddie held Richie’s hands, applying ointments and bandages and apologising every time Richie winced. Richie wasn’t sure when his head ended up on Eddie’s shoulder, or when their knees had locked together. He didn’t  _ mind,  _ obviously, it was too familiar for him to. He felt at home. Not being in Derry, but being on those stairs, tangled up with his best friend. 

Eddie was his home. 

***

“You know,” Richie said, taking a drag from his first cigarette in months, “she’s kind of an asshole. Reminds me of your mother. Her voice, too.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and tapped his (too long) fingernails on the side of his coffee mug. “Yeah. That was by design, I think. Not in a fucked up way. Well—Sort of. Not in the, uh—you get it.” Richie nodded. “This new therapist says I wanted to stay close to home, or whatever. Was too used to my mom to change. I’d forgotten how you were, and… y’know.” 

“Yeah. Should’ve married me, idiot.” Eddie looked up to glare at Richie. “Sorry. When are you going up to get your shit and sign the papers?” 

“Five tomorrow morning. You can come if you want, but I doubt you’ll be able to get a ticket so late. And I don’t think Myra would let you set foot in the house.” Eddie smiled as he added, “Dirty nasty boy.”

Richie gasped and held his hand against his chest. “I am  _ not!  _ I am a dirty nasty  _ man  _ now! The disrespect I have faced in this hotel room is fucking atrocious. It’s like I’m in middle school again. You really know how to cut ‘em deep, huh? I can’t believe it. Maybe you should stay in New York. I’m kidding.” 

“Yeah. I definitely couldn’t tell. Thanks for clearing that up, Rich.” 

“You’re _so _welcome.” He went quiet for a moment, watching Eddie drink his stupid black coffee (“You’se from New Yoyk! You like dat shitty cawfee! City Boy Eddie Kaspbrak!” “Fuck off.”) and lick his lips after. It had happened a few times, Richie’s mind going blank when he looked at Eddie. Memories flooding back, memories of them promising to never forget, a promise both of them had broken. It _was _the only promise both of them had broken, though, so that had to count for something.

He was looking at Eddie while that was all he could do. When Eddie came back, bags in hand and Myra-free, Richie could do whatever he wanted. Whatever  _ Eddie  _ wanted. Eddie waved his hand in front of Richie’s face. “Hey. Earth to farthead.”

“Nice one.”

“Thanks. You wanna go get breakfast, or something? I haven’t seen you eat in, like… too long. You’re gonna chuck everywhere if you even try to touch coffee.”

Richie held his finger up as he took a second drag from his half-burnt cigarette, forgotten to conversation and partially wasted, “Not true. I don’t drink that nasty straight-black-no-sugar-or-fun shit, so I should be fine. And I ate…” he held up his hand to count on his fingers, “some amount of hours ago. I’m all good, baby! No indigestion here!” Eddie looked at him pointedly. “I’m famous! Famous people don’t eat, Eddie. Come on. Be real.”

“You’re not  _ famous.”  _

“Not true! I played at the fuckin’ Ryan Center. I’ve  _ made it.  _ Livin’ it up in… yeah. Anyway, I’m fine. Not even hungry.” In an act of epic betrayal, Richie’s stomach groaned and Eddie stared at it. 

“Really? Is he neglecting you that bad, you poor thing? He’s probably filling you with so much dairy, despite his ass being lactose intolerant. And the rest of his body.” Richie snorted. Eddie sighed melodramatically and put a hand on Richie’s stomach. “I could give you so much better. Really, I could. I’m so sorry that he’s doing this to you. Truly. And as for  _ you,”  _ he looked back up at Richie, “you’re going to fucking eat. I will force feed you if I have to. I know you don’t have a—y’know, whatever, you’re just being stubborn. You’ll eat the shitty pancakes we’re gonna go get, and you’ll like it. Got it?”

“Damn, I love a man who knows how to take charge. You sure you’re not madly in love with me, Eddie?”

A resounding  _ smack!  _ rang through the room, followed by laughter too many years overdue. 

***

“God—Richie, wait, wait, stop—”

“What? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just—it’s fucking hot, and I can’t—I can’t  _ move,  _ Rich. Can we stop for a second?”

“Sure. Yeah, okay.” 

Richie put his box down and crossed his arms. “You lived in a city, shouldn’t you be used to moving by now? You lived in what… apartments? How many did you move through before that last one? It was pretty nice, but shit looked  _ ghostly.  _ Were you even allowed to put shit on the walls, or are you just tasteless?  _ My  _ apartment was—”

“A fucking deathtrap.”

“Hey!”

“You lived in that shitty apartment for  _ fifteen years.  _ How do you not know about a gas leak for  _ FIFTEEN YEARS?”  _

Richie shrugged and Eddie groaned, sliding down the wall and onto the floor. “You infuriate me,” he said,  _ “so  _ fucking much. I hate you. I think I truly hate you. This is it. End of us. I’m never talking to you again. I’ll move into your stupid gas-leaking-asbestos-having-black-mould-rampant apartment and  _ die.”  _

“Yeah, maybe I’ll give myself back problems looking for your cute little ass in the rubble again. I’m well-versed in it now, didn’t you know? Get it? Versed? Gay sex? And because I—”

“Yes, Richie.” Eddie hoisted himself up and started dragging the box he’d grabbed across the floor. Before Richie could even say anything, he said, “No, I don’t need help. Yes, I need you to open the bedroom door for me, and yes, we should use this as a doorstop.” Richie rushed forward to turn the knob, overshooting it and yanking the door open on accident,  _ still  _ not used to not having to challenge a door to a boxing match to get it to open. “Thanks.” 

Richie and Eddie were finally Richie And Eddie again. After they’d moved in together for a while, they somehow became  _ more  _ inseparable than they had been as kids. Go down to your local supermarket, there’s a buy-one-get-one-forcibly deal on Eddies and Richies, ending fucking never. Eddie decided that he was sick of waking up to the comforting sound of “approximately six kajillion” cars honking right outside of their windows every morning, and sat Richie down on the couch with a laptop and a few house hunting websites open. 

They’d found one that was far enough from the city for Eddie’s liking and close enough for Richie’s, four bedrooms, three bathrooms, two stories. It was cheap, given that multiple people had died in it, but they both figured that since they’d faced off an Evil God Demon Spirit Ghost Shapeshifting Kidnapping Time Travelling Homicidal Clown and  _ lived  _ that they’d be fine if anything else came their way.

Eddie’s divorce had gone surprisingly smooth, Myra not putting up a fight and instead just asking to keep the apartment and the furniture, which Eddie couldn’t have cared less about. He didn’t exactly love their couch that had survived both world wars enough to haul it to the other side of the country. 

Richie had been willing to compromise on furniture placement, too, which Eddie thought was nice. He moved things where Eddie wanted them, and didn’t put up a fight if it ended up being changed. The last few boxes were mostly clothes and books, some silverware, a smattering of photobooks here and there. 

It had become a home. 

Once they finally brought in the last box, they collapsed on the couch that Eddie had (rightfully) insisted on getting set up before anything else, Eddie on top of Richie and Richie’s arms around him. 

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“You okay?”

Eddie hummed and nodded. “Sore. I think I’m gonna feel this move for the next four years. Fuckin’… why do you have so many boxes of books? I thought you didn’t like reading. Did you just have them for decoration?”

Richie, who had spent hours building his collection and reading through first-edition classics in a manner of a few hours, laughed softly. “Yeah, Eds, I have tens of thousands of dollars worth of books just for decoration. I can’t even read! Sorry, what does that road sign say? I’m fucking deaf.”

“I fucking hate you.” Eddie nuzzled closer into Richie’s neck, pressing a gentle kiss against it and sighing. “Hey. You know I don’t think you’re stupid, right?”

“‘Course I do. I’m a genius, who  _ could?”  _ Eddie grumbled. “Yeah, yeah, sorry, sorry. I know.” Richie’s hand found itself in Eddie’s hair, petting it down and back so he could contort himself and kiss Eddie’s forehead. “We should get in our very comfy, very expensive bed. I know we love sleeping in the worst places, but I think this’ll be better for our old man backs.”

Eddie shook his head and held tighter to Richie. “Nope. We’re gonna go buy a fucking hammock and hang it up in… the bathroom. Sleep in there, we don’t need a bed.” Richie hummed and relaxed for a moment. Just as Eddie settled down again, Richie jumped up, bringing Eddie with him. “Hey! Shithead, fucking—stop, stop, stop, I’m gonna fall!”

“Should have thought about that before you denied me bed privileges!” Richie said, fully supporting Eddie. Eddie groaned and clung onto Richie like a koala. “Come on, bud,” Richie patted Eddie’s ass a few times, “let’s go. Bedtime.” 

Once Richie had wrestled Eddie into bed, he flopped down next to him face-first. “Rich?”

“Yeah?”

Eddie turned onto his side and tugged on Richie’s hair a bit to get him to look up. “I love you.”

Richie smiled and reached out to rub his thumb over Eddie’s cheekbone. “Love you, too, Eds.”

As they situated themselves, Richie thought back to the quarry, sobbing into his hands on top of a rock, doubts plaguing his mind and convincing him for a bit that Eddie was gone. If he hadn’t gone to find him, where would Eddie be? Would he have been able to get out by himself? Would he have been upset with them for not going back for him? He wasn’t upset with anyone, but if Richie  _ hadn’t  _ gone, would he have been? Would he have died alone? If they found him, who would they call? Richie? Myra? Eddie didn’t have any other family, besides some of his mom’s friends. Richie brushed his fingertips over the scar on Eddie’s stomach and pressed another kiss against his neck, closer to his jaw. Eddie was there, though, in his arms, safe and alive. He was breathing and Richie could reach out and touch any part of him he wanted.

There was no reason to be nervous anymore, they were _both_ home. 

**Author's Note:**

> as i said last time if you don't let stanley live too you are a coward and a bastard and you will be obliterated by my tiny hands


End file.
